Metamorphosis
by Haibara Ai z
Summary: This time, Conan needs the antidote and he won't take no for an answer. To do so Haibara is exerted by this endeavour, taken to unfathomable limits, but also driven by the sole hope that she would remain his partner through any trial.


**CONAN**

* * *

She sits, hunched intently, poring over the small screen before her. Her keen gaze seems to absorb every parcel of data scrolling across the laptop's surface- lines mirrored distortedly in her own glowing eyes. The computer casts an ever-shifting, pale flicker over her face, defining her features dimly. Her lips form a grim, rigid line, her fingers poised delicately over the keys, her hair layered as methodically as the information she is analysing. A humid draft wafts in steadily from the window, causing a flannel pajama of indistinguishable colour to sweep against her skin softly, collar barely meeting the strands of hair falling across her face. Folds morph once more as the breeze toys playfully with her loose attire.

She is so peaceful, so serene that I am afraid to disturb her.

"Haibara…" I blow inaudibly. But the statue has heard me. She swivels her head swiftly, the hours of motionless, unblinking research failing to render her movements any less fluid. She is listening; and so I state my business: "I need the antidote."

"I know. You have told me that several times already," she snaps. I almost laugh. I knew she was going to say that; I knew she was going to dismiss my request with an emotionless quip.

I knew it… but this time I _meant _it.

"Ran is waiting for me. Don't you understand!?" I blurt out, balling my fists. But immediately afterwards, I regret my outburst. Her face hardens, her voice stiffens; once again, she suppresses the emotions my words have conjured. But what is it? What emotion is she hiding beneath her mask?

Something like irritation contorts her features. And this time, her answer is not the one I was expecting: "Very well, Tantei-san." She nods faintly, her movement causing a few meshes of gleaming, auburn hair to slide down, shielding her eyes.

Haibara flips out a knife.

"Wh-what are you doing with that?" My eyes widen disbelievingly. I hold out my stun-gun watch in front of me, threatening to shoot. "Oi! Stop that, Haibara!"

Placid, she pretends not to have heard me. Haibara tilts the luminous weapon downwards, posing the cuspate tip onto her bicep.

"HAIBARA!" I shout. I cannot shoot though because if I do, I will cause her to drop the dagger onto a rather vulnerable space below. With the slim object, she carves out a section of her skin, wielding the knife with unnatural precision in this obscurity. I shudder as she pushes it deeper into her flesh, not a drop of blood seeping out due to her meticulousness. Using the peak of the device to lift the flap she has whittled, I watch in mute horror as she reaches over to the table for a pair of pincers and lowers it into the nick, extracting a small, rectangular object.

It catches the light. An… SD card? As she reseals her wound, it occurs to me that she has executed the whole process without uttering a sound- had the pain been numbed? Had she used…

"No, I have not used any substance to ease the pain. Nor am I a masochist," Haibara answers me, reading my thoughts. To her, I am an open book. I can feel her _enjoy_ the astonishment which is undoubtedly drawing itself on my face.

"Why?" is all I can pronounce, summing up all the thoughts twirling around in my head.

She holds the card between her thumb and index. "I'm going to get your antidote." Haibara speaks almost monotonously, a faint sliver of mischievousness in her voice. "The temporary antidotes I've been producing for you were simply side projects."

"Wh-what?" my eyelids flutter as I flinch at the news. What does she mean by that?

She rubs her cut absentmindedly, her palm searching up her arm as she examines me keenly: "You should be able to deduce it, right, Tantei-san?" Her eyes narrow in a malevolent sneer, an expression I had not seen since the revelation of her identity. "When I was a member of the organisation, I stole a chip containing vital data- data allowing me to access their server at a later time."

"Server… then that means you have their IP address, don't you? " I scream angrily, fists shaking involuntarily. "You had all that information! I could have used it to learn more about them, to defeat them, to-" Why had she withheld this from me all this time? I could be with Ran now!

She freezes. "You'll always run back to your girlfriend, huh?" Her half-lidded eyes bend into an expression akin to wistfulness. Had I mentioned that out loud? But immediately afterwards- before I could tell her Ran is _not _my girlfriend…yet- her face morphs promptly to form the smooth, impassive façade she withholds in front of everyone. "It was necessary."

"HUH?"

"What would you have done?" she asks me in that soft, soprano voice of hers. What would I have done? Her eyes pinpoint me as I mention the obvious answer: "Well, I would have hacked into their…" I blink at my response, realising the utter foolishness of the proposed course-of-action. They would be able to track down my digital footprint if I did so. Furthermore, their IP address would not tell me their location since they'd already moved their base someplace else since.

"Your reckless impulse would only endanger our acquaintances," Haibara states. And I hate to admit it, but she is right. I would have done something stupid, narrowly avoiding discovery as I have done countless times before… or I would have been uncovered and my friends and family would have been murdered mercilessly. The anger burning in my chest wavers; logic overrides my indignant reaction. My fist uncurls and wanders towards my pocket, my thumb hooking the side of my jeans, other fingers falling in an arc against the pants' rugged surface. My irritation at her secrecy still subsists, I am more curious than accusing at this point.

"You stole it from the Organisation?" I inquire, startled at how boyish my voice sounds. Tch, even now, I am still unaccustomed to the childishness of my voice as Conan.

Though the average person would not notice it, I observe a slight change in Haibara's demeanour. Her features loosen, her eyes no longer bear the same intensity… she _unwinds_. Her mask loses its severity and she relaxes. Just slightly. "Yes, before replicating it onto an SD card to avoid detection. I concealed it in my flesh due to it being the only place which would remain with me at all times." I wince at this comment. "For the past few years, I have been coding a program which would make your actions less perilous."

"A security program?" I inquire, now following her with unprecedented raptness. She nods, whirling around again towards her computer, its soft glow illuminating her face once more. Although this time, her pupils flit around more frenziedly. Is she… excited? But she had never demonstrated such anticipation when unveiling her other projects. I sigh, realising that every day I find myself more and more puzzled by her behaviour.

"Here." The word snaps me out of my cogitation instantly. I peer at the screen once more, scanning the lines of code.

I whistle admiringly. _Wow…_ She is good! Its complexity had been summed up in a perfectly minimalist manner. Not one line was in excess, and it was all thoughtfully structured- effortless to comprehend. It's just so… clever. Her eyebrows arc as she smirks condescendingly at my speechless amazement.

My bewilderment deviates quickly as that mocking grin appears. I scold her: "Oi, can't I ever pay you a compliment without receiving a smirk from you," my mouth twitches as I eye her, irritated.

Her mouth curls even further. Hehe, she'll _never_ change.

Haibara shoves the microchip into the slot with a short, choppy jerk of the thumb, nodding in approval as the numbers appear onto the screen. She holds out her hand expectantly: "Paper. Pen." I do as told, rolling my eyes as I realise that in a field such as this, I have become her subordinate- not the other way around. Her hand moves nimbly as she etches the digits on the paper lightly, the pen spouting a thin band of mauve ink wherever she rolls it. The computer's radiation flits around the faint scribbles, soaking the underlying white surface in a pale, yellowish hue.

"I think you have realised that to minimize the risk of being uncovered we'll have to infiltrate the organisation through another server." So we were going to hack into an organisation other than the B.O first? Well, it made sense, I suppose. _Only_, I frown, _it could be illegal._

"Haibara, what exactly are we hacking into?"

Her smile dissolves, her eyebrows bending candidly, and her voice becoming dispassionate- almost aloof.

"JEXIM. The Japanese Export Import Bank."

What!? That organisation? "But their security system is incredible, even for an international banking company such as them," I reason, my pitch wandering towards in the higher register of my voice, "it's a state-of-the art program. I… it's impossible to crack."

Her mouth curls back again as her mouth moves infinitesimally to articulate her answer: "It is an exact copy." Seeing my uncomprehending tilt of the head, she elaborates on the matter: "The organisation occasionally sells software they have created- one, to test it; two, to support their activities financially. This bank is one of their clients. They use a security system similar to that which the organisation uses."

"Oh," I exclaim unobtrusively. But then my brow crinkles as a problem comes to light. "Despite the bank being their client, we can't hack into it like a common criminal." She goes rigid. I see her fingers draw back subtly, each knob stiff and inert. Her jaw is pulled into her lip, her neck curved backwards, her shoulders and arms are jammed against the side of her body. As a detective, I know what such body language means. She is restraining the anger which inhibits her. But what had I said to elicit her wrath?

"Alright," she speaks shakily, still confining her ire, "let's forget this." Her eyes narrow into slits, her face freezing, afraid to allow any anger to seep out of her. "Let's forget this. We don't need to infiltrate the Black Organisation, to retrieve our bodies… in fact, I do not scorn the life I am living. I am not attached to Sherry or Shiho Miyano- and there is no one fond of them." My eyes widen, my lips parting slightly. I understand now the meaning behind her words. She would never admit it, but she is doing this solely for my purpose. She does not want to return to her old life, but for my sake… she had cut herself. I grimace as the scene flickers vividly in my mind.

It wouldn't be bad, right? We wouldn't steal anything… and we would achieve greater welfare for countless victims of the organisation. Once I was back to my old body, I would be able to take down the wretched consortium and bring them to justice for all their wrongdoings. Furthermore, Ran would no longer be alone. It would be better. The good would outweigh the bad. _It's ok_, I reassure myself.

It's ok, right?

"Kudo. It's alright." Haibara slides the chair backwards, picking up the scrap of paper I had handed her with a careless clutch, creasing it unnecessarily. Her expression is dulled, muted. But I can feel the rage seething out of her, _leeching_ out of her cool façade.

"Haibara." I raise a hand to stop her. She continues to walk. "HAIBARA!" My voice is decisive, my tone commanding. Alarmed by the force of my call, her head turns hesitantly, though her expression is still cynical. "What, _Conan-kun_?" Her emphasis on the pronoun is venomous.

"It… it's ok. Let's do it." Assurance pulls the corners of my mouth into a grin.

Her eyes flutter slightly, her lips drawn apart, before she closes both in a knowing smile. Crossing both her slender arms, she snickers: "I knew you couldn't resist the temptation of seeing your girlfriend for long."

I narrow my eyes and shoot an amused glare at her. Heat rises to my cheeks as I take in the possibility of that happening… well, I guess she expected this. Haibara seems to be able to anticipate my next move, unlike Ran. I usually do not compare them as we have different relationships, but sometimes, even though Ran is the one I love, I find myself _bored _in her presence. That's not supposed to happen and… it, it troubles me.

Well, Haibara is a maniac after all. Things are bound to be interesting with her. I turn my focus back to the scientist. "My program is called Blainville after the whales native to Blainville, Quebec." Information rolls off her tongue smoothly as she taps the keys with the tips of her fingers, as if stroking them.

"Oh, I think I read something about that," I tell her. It seemed familiar enough. Something about… "A stealth mode, right?"

She nods slightly with a swish of her hair and proceeds to explain her name choice in more detail: "The beaked whales remain completely silent near the sea's surface to escape predators. That is what my program will do." A smirk adorns her lips once more as she gazes rather proudly at her program.

"It's making us beaked whales?" I chuckle ironically. Her neck twists abruptly in my direction, her vibrant blue eyes shooting daggers. But then, she seems to change her mind as they soften, her eyebrows straightening out. She articulates: "Yes. I suppose so." Ha, her and her metaphors. Haibara returns to typing, spawning line after line of code. Is she already trying to hack into the bank?

"Haibara…?"

"Yes, I'm almost done." She clicks a few buttons and a loading sign appears. Then, she withdraws the microchip and reaches into an organised row of such objects to retrieve another one. It is completely featureless, probably engineered by the professor himself. Hurriedly, she continues her process by shoving the new chip in and saving Blainville onto the device.

Then she offers a hand-her fingers curled into a fist-an object concealed within its grasp. Upon closer scrutiny, I realise that it is the microchip she had taken from her flesh. A sharp intake of breath jolts me slightly. Haibara raises an eyebrow at my reaction. "What? Tantei-san can catalogue gruesome murders, but faints because of _this?"_ She taunts, the corners of her mouth in an upwards slant. Her eyes bear into me with startling depth. I ignore her provocation; with her, you have to pick your battles wisely.

Wordlessly, I pick up the microchip, understanding her intentions instantly. I place it between my thumb and index before grinding it into countless metallic fragments, oozing into my other hand like grains of sands. As I push them into a nearby bin, they shimmer, suspended, particles hovering in an ephemeral firmament before being devoured by the merciless container below.

"Let's go," she states, flipping the new chip into the folds of her pocket, "and don't forget to bring money."

"Mm-hmm." When I look into her eyes, I know where we are going. It must be because of my reasoning. It must be logic, isn't it?

* * *

I stand behind the chair, leaning over to scan the screen. She is crouched, solemn face inches away from the screen, her fingers flying over the keys swiftly, touching each only briefly before soaring rapidly to the next, pinkies darting out to pinpoint their target. Her elbows are now held higher than usual, to facilitate quick reaction and reach; her narrowed eyes are rolling erratically in their orbits to grasp the lines being generated recurrently and frequently. Every split second, there is a new line created, and a new line of numerals and letters she is required to type. A bead of sweat trickles down her creased forehead, which, I realise, is glistening slightly- the urgency and danger of her endeavour causing this mild physical reaction to appear. Meshes of brown hair cling to its humid surface.

A soft groan escapes her lips. Haibara's hands finally leave the keys for the first time since she'd started. Her small form falls into the back of the chair. The rigidity in her muscles dissipates as her limbs fall loosely to her sides, her eyes swivelling upwards, without a frown to constrict them. Blue, eyes, humid with... tears? No, that's impossible. It must be sweat. She drawls weakly: "You know I designed their security program, right?"

She designed this one too? Wow. I voice my esteem: "Amazing…" She still manages to smirk.

"It seems we'll need more than this to breach my creation. Thankfully my failure has been concealed by Blainville, and so it shall never see the light. We'll have to obtain more data about JEXIM's computers."

What? "Why?" What had gone wrong? All the careful planning, the gruelling… She closes her eyes and her mouth, both curled upwards, gripping the side of the desk: "I should have anticipated this," a grimace pulls on both sides of her mouth, annoyed that she had overlooked whatever detail she was envisioning, "I completely rebuilt the interface and disabled the port-mapper, but I can't get past the server firewall."

These terms are rather foreign to me. But I let her continue; no sense in interrupting her now. "They must be monitoring the network," she draws her top lip up and winces, pushing herself back upright in her chair, her shoulder blades digging into the wooden surface. Irony twists her face into a smile, guarding her dissatisfaction. "There's one more thing we'll need…" Her lips stop moving as her expression solidifies. Her gaze is directed at something or someone behind me, indecision dancing in her eyes.

"How do you _know_ about this, little girl?" The deep, male voice questions distrustfully. "Are you some kind of _child_ prodigy? Even I have trouble understanding…" I'm guessing he's about 40 years old, speaks Japanese fluently with a Tokyo accent, and practices programming as a hobby. The gears in my mind start to revolve as I turn to face him, conjuring a viable excuse… developing a back story…

"Oh, I was just reciting my lines for a play! In my play, I'm a child genius like you said," a little girl… no _Haibara says? _As I glance back at the tab she has opened, hoping it wasn't showing lines of code, I am met with an array of colorful animals twirling around to the tune of "Old McDonald."

The man is unconvinced: "Where is the play?"

"Teitan High School," she answers without missing a beat. Her eyes are wide with mirth, her mouth also agape in a jubilant beam. Slightly creepy if you ask me. It's unusual for Haibara to look so… normal. I turn around to see the middle-aged Japanese man I was expecting and offer her my assistance: "Yup! I'm part of the play too so we're practicing together. Sorry if we disturbed you." I scratch my head sheepishly, smiling as Conan-like as I can.

Finally, he yields. His suspicious stare softens as he breaks into a grin. "Riiiight." He says, embarrassedly, his mouth widening and his eyebrows twitching awkwardly. "Well, good luck on your play then." As his gaze has left us, we sigh. Haibara's mask has shifted once again, her smile becoming a smirk, her eyes narrowing, and her hands returning to her keyboard.

"I'll tell you at Agasa's place," she states quietly, tucking the chip into her pocket. Haibara deletes all windows and we exit the Internet Café with a steady, eager stride.

What do we need to hack into JEXIM? Knowing her… the procedure is probably questionable.

* * *

**HAIBARA**

* * *

_**I'll occasionally suggest soundtracks which match a particular scene. Either I'll give you the name of the song, or a link. Pay attention!_

Nagato Pein is the main programmer for JEXIM and therefore is bound to have stored their Mac ID on his computer. They would not delegate any such information for fear of vindictive hackers and so we are required to infiltrate the man's household.

Of course, Kudo-kun did not take kindly to the idea. But he is much too attached to his past life to pass up such an opportunity.

His opportunity to flee from evil… to flee from me. I can't blame him. His angel would welcome him with open arms, with an attitude unlike my repulsive armor. I am a traitor, a murderer; I can't expect him to enjoy my presence. In fact, few people do.

"He shouldn't be present at this time, right?" Kudo-kun inquires, his voice naturally deeper than the nauseating child's pitch he uses while speaking to adults.

Of course not. Did he truly believe I would lead him into the person's house without reviewing all the variables? "He is not. At this moment, he should be instructing his weekly seminar on chemistry. There has been no news of its cancellation." My mask is solidifying, I can feel it. Congealing in place like a barrage to my emotions, it had been a useful tool amongst organisation members, but only prompted scorn from the so-called ordinary beings of this world.

The landlady has not heard our small exchange, pacing before us as a shepherd herds her sheep, key in hand rather than a staff. We arrive at the door of his room and she unlocks it to allow her entry. "Thanks Oba-saan! We'll be quick!" Kudo is adept when it comes to deceit. Actually, he resembles the culprits he so vehemently accuses more than he shall ever know. It's ironic, really. It is due to that overinflated sense of self-righteousness which deems some acts permissible while others unfathomable that it was difficult to gain his support for this enterprise.

Then maybe in his world of black and white, I am grey to him. The in-between he is forced to allow.

"Oi, Haibara," the Tantei calls, "Make it fast." The landlady has disappeared down the hallway. I cross the threshold as light surges from the lamp overhead.

The first thing I notice is the array of liquid-filled containers set on a table in the back.

The second thing I notice is the body.

_(Detective Conan Soundtrack 1 - (youtube dot com) watch?v=dmGuw0XzIOc )_

Most of the corpses I have seen are taut, the murder have occurred mere hours before. But this one's limbs seem unhinged from his body and flung into various undetermined directions, body molded pliably into the chair holding him, emaciated fingers marred with mauve streaks and swelling blisters. His jaw is slack- with small rivers of saliva which had coagulated as they dribbled out- and his navy eyes glazed over, now a hazy tint of clouded blue. Blood spreads watery tendrils beneath its translucent surface, the flimsy mask surrounding his eyes waxy and pale. Dishevelled tuffs of hair scarcely cover his scalp and his polo and jeans are rumpled by whatever struggle he had put up prior to his death.

Our eyes widen like saucers, but narrow immediately as our minds whirr into action.

They take in:

1-The syringe on the floor besides him

2-The minute crimson hole pierced in the side of his arm

3-The almond scent in his breath

4-The bandage covering yet another piercing on his back with the same almond scent

5-The wallet in his pocket identifying him as Nagato Pein, the programmer

And the pieces start to fit together.

I shall never admit it, but it's at times like these that I feel truly alive- collaborating with someone of equal intelligence to achieve something no one would suspect us capable of.

He shall never know the rush of pleasure I feel as our bond of mutual consent is formed. And that I hate it. I fight it with all my meager strength for he is not mine but someone else's… though still I persist to feel _these_, these sentiments.

"A day. It's been about a day, don't you think?" He suggests.

_Partnership_.

"Yes, about a day I would gauge."

_Equality_.

"Definitely a murder," we utter at the same time, "cyanide poisoning."

_Collaboration_.

"Call the police."

I nod.

… _complicity…_

"Wait, the data!" Conan yelps; his face scrunching up due to the conflicting nature of the decision he was to make.

_And that's why I don't want to let him go._

I look up, cold as ever: "The murder comes first." And he nods with newfound zeal, childlike anticipation glittering in his dark blue eyes. Eyes that could lure you in if you are not careful.

_Then perhaps I have already been too careless._

His hand brushes against mine ephemerally and thousands of butterflies are scattered about my stomach. _Go away, _I tell them. 'You stay here, alright?" Soundless consent; I harden my face and my soul tenfold for he cannot see it. He cannot know.

_Maybe I have._

But the string of fate linking us is only one of friendship and its tint only indicates the blood which will be shed with the crossing of our paths. The wall is cool against my back, percolating through the thin fabric. My head drones with…

_The sound of butterflies. Thousands of winged creatures fluttering about._

_Swooping and soaring and brushing against my soul._

_I hate it. Why won't ice freeze this feeling away? Why does warmth rise to my face?_

I tug my hood down and remain, knees angled towards each other, head inclined upwards. For some reason, even though I've stared death in the face countless times before, I cannot stand the sight of the corpse. Because sometimes… there are things I would rather overlook. Sometimes…

_Life seems worthwhile._

(End of soundtrack)

A few minutes later, the air is teeming with sirens. My nerves settled, I analyse the room before the police's arrival. The bottles with the various substances are located on a counter- rather than a table as I had originally thought- lodged against the back wall with a large window overhead. A small cubicle of space is present to its right with a garbage bin occupying most of its scope. Nagato Pein's corpse is inclined over the back of his plastic chair; his study entrenched before him, and with that, a trite suicide note scrolled on the very computer I am looking to gain access to.

The desk itself is kept fastidiously, every object seeming to have its place… or its mini-shelf for that matter. A row of racks stand like dominoes, aligned scrupulously along the oak surface, everything smooth and tidy. Sometimes I wish the world were like that. Everyone fitting in- no spare jigsaw pieces.

On the left, a door opens up to another room. This time, it is dominated by a TV, wires set a near perfect distance from each other without intertwining themselves as the professor's vine-like cords have the tendency of doing, a stack of games piled up in a cupboard supporting the bulky watching device, and retro video game consoles with white and red joysticks. A nice console, although the two colors reminded me of the scarlet sodden snow my blood had disfigured as it trickled from my bullet wounds.

The bathroom is meek and unimportant, rather typical for an apartment loo. It branches off from the video game room for added convenience, I suppose.

I realise, with a simper, that this could have been my room: from the scientific experiments in the back, to the computer in front, and even to the video games Professor Agasa would undeniably craft for my enjoyment. Although it would never contain a Tantei such as the one dredging liberally in Nagato's room at the moment. Displacing objects before depositing them back in their former place, he feels not a pang of guilt at the merciless probing of a victim's room.

The landlady stands still behind us, as unmoving and erect as a figurine, hands clasping over her mouth as the shock continues to rattle her very being. She has not tried to halt our little search yet due to her emotional incapacity but will certainly take note of it- allowing the police to know of so-called "child misbehaviour."

Ah, it is them right now. Lestrade has arrived to crash Holmes' scrutinising.

"Conan." I twitch my head upwards to alert him of the nearing footsteps.

His attitude shifts immediately from the fervent attentiveness skilled detectives are renowned for, to an air of oblivious, childish glee. As Inspector Megure and his subordinates arrive, tape is laid to frame several pieces of evidence. But, of course, they have overlooked a potential key factor in the solving of this case. I suppose it is my turn to… put on a show. I trod up to a forensic artist and tug on his overalls as an animal would nudge a human, slipping on an entirely new mask: "Mister!"

He peers down indecisively. "What about the chemicals over there?" I expand my eyes as I speak, and, like Ayumi, add a giggle and a smile. My charade produces a shred of amusement within me. He does not know that in such an innocent envelope, a monster such as me could reside. I continue: "That could be really important for the case!"

He cocks his eyebrow momentarily before crouching down to my level and uttering with a sugar-saturated voice: "Oh, that? Don't worry about it; it's not part of the investigation."

"I think it should," I protest with my tone even sweeter than his, beaming a huge smile, "pleeeaaaase?"

Somehow, the sheer amount of sugar has corroded his willpower and he relents: "Alright, but don't interfere with the investigation little girl." I nod eagerly to maintain my guise, before skipping back to the Tantei-san who was on a crusade of his own.

Every time I return to my regular façade, I feel as if I am turning a dial like the one on Kudo-kun's bow, merely swapping masks as effortlessly as he swaps voices. The metamorphosis is always quick and painless, though I admit that wearing a perpetual cocoon can be exhausting. Freezing my heart as to feel nothing can be… cold… and lonely sometimes. But it is better than being vulnerable to the despised whirlwind of emotions most people are forced to endure.

"I got all of the suspects!" I hear being called out by the docile Takagi-kun. And indeed, there are four people before us- excluding the landlady who is the first suspect-(who said the number must always be three?) one of them being someone very familiar…

"Conan-kun!" the person calls out with a distinct grin, almost jumping on him like an over-enthusiastic fan. Something tugs at the sides of my mouth as the boy's expression turns sour, pure dread stamped onto his features. Before I know it, I am grinning- or rather, smirking. Kudo-kun shoots a side glance shrieking 'help me,' but, for the sake of the show, I yawn and look away.

The girl's tousled, obsidian hair, pastel tint and her two protruding teeth liken her to a vampire. Her eyes are emerald-encrusted, outlined with jagged black, her movements boyish and vigorous, her limbs as lean as Rachel's, and her expression forever impish. But she too is a detective, and her gaze is piercing when she believes herself to be unobserved.

_Conan_- emphasis on the name- holds his hands up and whines: "Ah! Sera-san." He knows he is under scrutiny and adopts his signature puppy-eyed manifestation of surprise.

"He's DEAD!?" I hear a male voice boom behind me. Huh? I look over my shoulder to meet the navy eyes of a stout, European man with light brown hair compressed onto his scalp, a rosy tint as if he were blushing continuously, wide blue eyes, and a shirt to match it. The piece of clothing in question holds a spherical character on it, which, I could not help but notice, resembles him very much. Its name is Kirby, I believe. As the man walks over to the body, he smears a sweat-slick hand onto his jeans, and, like a murderer dabbing his blood-soiled hands clean, a smirk curls his mouth for a mere second before being replaced by an air of mock surprise.

Suspect number two.

Another man approaches behind him, also ostensibly astonished. He is tall, thin, and bald, tiny pricks of dark hair protruding like manicured grass scattered on a field. His gray turtleneck and brown pants only accentuate his height and scrawniness, his fingers as gaunt as the corpse's. Then, something like worry knits his eyebrows together as his eyes widen erratically, like a fitful child. "How… how could this happen?" He mutters under his breath.

Suspect number three.

"Nagato?" a female asks. The inspector answers with a tentative 'yes,' hoping she would not burst into tears from the shock. Her knees buckle under the metaphorical weight of the news before recovering much more quickly than expected. Her hair falls in coils, a dark brown, seamless mass of twirls bobbing up and down as she walks. She passes a finger through her medusa hairdo, drawing out a sliver of hair before gnawing on it nervously, tossing it back into the pile, and declaring: "I, detective Fujiwara Sakura shall solve this case for you!"

…Suspect number four?

An aspiring detective, I suppose. Stumbling around to finally reach the body, she purses her lips obnoxiously: "This is definitely a suicide by cyanide poisoning. Observe the syringe having fallen from his hand here and the hole in his arm here as well as the mauve on his fingers."

Inspector Megure, visibly taken aback by such unexpected behaviour, manages a petty: "Please don't touch the body. The police will solve this case but you cannot interfere or it will make it harder for us." The woman places a hand on her hip, about to chuck a retort at the policeman or yammer a ridiculous rant about her amazing detective prowess when someone else speaks.

"Excuse me, but what is your link to the victim?" Sera-san's jade-tinted eyes drill into hers expectantly with Kudo leaning back casually a few steps behind her, his hands digging into his pocket and a sly smile on his lips. As "real" detectives themselves, I can see the irrepressible dab of disgust jerking their smiles.

She looks away with a pout and mumbles: "We're just neighbours. I live next door."

Sera and Conan continue- their glares unwavering- with a slew of questions, squeezing out small drops of information from each suspect. Their age, their name, their occupation. She slowly draws a profile of each one, their lives unfolding before us, even seemingly obsolete details about their past fitting in the grander scheme of things.

Essentially, we are left with four portraits.

The Kirby man's name is Tamaki Genta and the other is called Hsien Goro. The landlady and the amateur detective are called Hakura Akari and Kyoko Haru respectively. Both men are employees of the deceased (programmers), Kyoko simply being neighbours of the man, although the latter had met Nagato previously, having lived in the same dorm during college. These were the only people to both know the man and be close enough to the apartment during the time of murder.

None have alibis and the victim has not been reported to leave his room often, preferring to remain cooped up inside- like me. He is an amateur scientist with a fascination for chemistry and an interest in informal video game playing. It is Sunday today and he had hosted a house- or rather apartment- warming party that Friday which only the suspects had attended.

Sera is a suspect due to having been hired by the victim over the phone to investigate a robbery which had occurred a year or so ago. "He asked me to see if one of the robbers fit a certain profile," she had said.

When the police were no longer looking, he had asked her about it. But, smirking, she had refused to divulge more information about the "classified" case. "Figure it out, Kudo-kun," she held up an index and stuck her tongue out mockingly.

"But I'm not Shinichi." He protested weakly as she had effectively changed the topic of conversation. "I'm Conan. _Conan!"_

Now, Kyoko, the "detective," almost like a female version of Kogouro, continues with her ridiculous claims: "As I was saying, this is definitely a suicide." She raises her thin eyebrows pretentiously and scans the room with a haughty smirk as if defying us to counter her. "I am definitely right," she spits. I twitch slightly at the overwhelming stupidity of her assertions.

Why does this irritate me…?

_A monster can never become an angel._

She is trying to become what she cannot, pretending to be better than she truly is, bringing everyone into her redundant fantasy. If she is a novelist, she should live in her books.

_Fantasies are not reality._

She staggers around the crime scene, kicking up pieces of evidence. "Don't do that," I look up at her with layers of my cool façade covering me, no childish innocence, but sheer, utter nonchalance. A multi-faceted fortress of glass, emulating only a distorted image of me on every flank.

_Fate cannot be changed. Leave the truth alone._

"Your claims are completely ludicrous." I glare at her, making her flinch. Not unlike a staring contest, she gazes back with ire: "And what would a child know about that?" I let a smirk drag my lips back, expressing my amusement with the situation.

Fear flits in her eyes and I take the opportunity to strike back: "Have you neglected to examine the body? If so, you would discern a piece of evidence which even a _child _could locate." I put out a hand towards the corpse, as if inviting her to take a look.

_You cannot defy fate._

"Ha! You thing I have not looked there? That's the first place a detective looks, although I shouldn't expect you to know that," she tucks a few streamers of hair behind her ear, tilting her head up as to have to look further down at me. But she cannot conceal the fact that she is having an argument with a seven-year old on her erroneous deduction. And that soon, she would be losing.

_Its author is unyielding._

I open my mouth and stifle a yawn: "Well, I guess it's too much to ask from an amateur detective to do it," I near the body with a few faint protests from police officers and forensics, grabbing the hem of his shirt before rolling it up to his shoulder blade. Her eyes widen in surprise: "Don't touch that little girl…"

I smile. Startled, she totters back. What is she seeing? What vision has frightened her? Is it my tiny hands searching up the dead body of a man? Hehe. "Here." I indicate the bandaged piercing. "The first time he was struck here and died instantly. The murderer covered it up with a bandage before piercing another hole on his shoulder where the victim could have reached to inject himself." I sneer: "Now, does your daft mind record the utter simplicity of this all?"

Her eyes widen. She realises now that she is defenceless against my arguments; that she is but a bug in the palm of my hand. She squirms, twiddling a spiral of hair: "That's not cyanide… he must have hurt himself some other way." Oh, but Kyoko-san doesn't have the same conviction. Her conceit has vanished. Her armor is gradually being chipped away.

_It's impossible._

"The forensics will be studying the body soon. Will you take a bet?" I retort, pleased that fissures continue to breach her mask of smugness.

A voice hisses into my ear: "Oi, oi, Haibara. Take it easy." Kudo… I exhale, rotating my left foot before placing my right before it. That's right. I shouldn't be letting myself go like that. The severity in his stare is unnerving and I slide mine to the side to escape it. I am cowardly, as usual. But, as I walk alongside the miniature Tantei, I cannot help but turn around one last time and snarl: "If I am truly a child, then you are in an unfavorable position indeed."

_Crack!_

_There goes her armour._

The body is soon taken out, Kudo having finally relented- no longer stalling them. A few minutes later, the forensics walk in with their report. If we could just sneak a peek… I glance at Kudo-kun and we lock eye contact momentarily. Wireless communication, his head moves subtly, opalescent white light gleaming over his glasses. He tilts his chin in Masumi-san's direction and our consensus is immediate.

"Masumi-san! Are you going to take a look at the forensic report?" Kudo-kun looks up at her with his fingers splayed at his side, huge eyes, and a wide, innocent grin. Masumi seems to mock his performance, leaning in to whisper something inaudible. As her lips move, Kudo's childish act fades, his expression taking on a more solemn turn. The piercing scowl reserved for adults is out of place on his oversized head, giving the impression of an old, jaded soul trapped in a child's frame. Which, essentially, is exactly that.

He groans and rolls his eyes as the monkey-like girl grins mischievously. She had most likely decided to give Kudo a challenge by withholding information such as the forensic details. We'll just have to hope they deposit it on a table somewhere, even for an instant. Or… ah yes, he understands. We move into enemy territory together.

"Oh! I dropped my keychain underneath the counter! Oji-san," Kudo tugs on the man's ample blue shirt. The forensic artist looks rather exasperated, muttering angry slurs of "_children!"_ as he places his report on the table and leans in under the band of overhead metal.

In that split second, we are perusing the files, sifting through them as rapidly as possible. Then, when we finally reach the page, it all dawns on me: the key to the enigma. And, as his eyes narrow behind the deceptive lenses, as his mouth forms a satisfied smirk, like a predator within arm's range of his prey, I know that he has grasped the solution also. "You got it?"

"Ya," he utters, fanning the pages back into place, "I got it."

A grunt is heard as the forensic artist rises from under the table, prize in hand. Immediately, all traces of the teenage detective are gone. "Arigato Gozaimase!" He grabs it, now more enthusiastic than before, and drops it into his pocket.

"I'll be back in a few minutes." Kudo-kun whispers into my ear. Then even more softly, he mumbles: "I'll get everyone out of the room. Do your thing." He carries himself with short, but powerful strides, out the doorway before turning and fading.

Leaving me mesmerized.

Something lingering…

_On my ear._

Effectively, a few minutes later Kudo has called them with his bow-tie voice simulator. "Kudo!?" Inspector Megure exclaims. As several heads swivel in his direction, he quiets significantly with an apologetic smile. "Conan told you? Alright, I'll gather everyone in the video game room." Like a school of fish chasing the same morsel of food, they stream into the indicated chamber.

Finally, I can operate.

I march towards the article the dead body had previously occupied, hoisting myself onto it with my right hand planted onto the table and my left on the plastic seat. It is white and smooth under the touch, shifting under my meagre weight, the wheels supporting it trundling sideways. I place my palm onto it to steady it, finally bringing it to a halt. Then, with my legs finally touching it, I nudge my way into the rear of the seat, it's back nestling my body with fibrous padding.

At last, I am able to access the power button. As a precaution, I fish out a pair of elastic gloves. If they happen to lift my fingerprints here, I would be inviting them to annihilate my acquaintances. Of course, I would rather avoid writing that fatal card, even though the texture of these gloves slows my typing progress with its adhesiveness.

First, I access his account with a simple trick, using Blainville to cover my tracks. Then, I hack his work folders- which are password protected- avoiding any alteration whatsoever. If I do happen to modify his data, my actions will be recorded in several areas; it would be a waste of valuable time to clean all of them. This is to be avoided at all costs.

I am diving into shallow water; it is a rather easy process. The ID is not buried too deeply and I am able to penetrate the last layer of protection with ample time before the end of Kudo's deduction show. Striking gold is exhilarating. Picking up a stone to realise it's a pearl stimulates a wonderful feeling. I scan it, storing the sequence of numbers in my mind. As my sudden effort gives way, I stretch my fingers and smile. Now that all the components are gathered, the weapon is ready to be built: a powerful, but discreet missile sure to infiltrate the enemy.

"What are you doing...?" Someone coaxes suavely. I whirl around; panic grounding me into place- speechless.

_It is her._

Choppy strands of unkempt hair surround fixated, gold flecked lime pupils and a snarl-like smile. Her lip recedes slightly to reveal her vampire fangs, her impassioned glare hardening; a cougar moving in for the kill. Nails glint like silver as they clutch the side of my chair. When she speaks again, her voice is sardonic and penetratingly sharp, rows of teeth and narrowing it into a low, forceful hiss:

"_Ai_-_kun_."

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HUGE thanks to:

**Hai-edogawa** for creating the plot with me and developing the concept.

**Masked Idiot** for creating the AMAZING cover art and beta reading my work.

**My younger brother **who knows _way_ too much **about** murders for his age helped me brainstorm the case.

**God **for giving me the ability to write... k, I'm not that good but still XP

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**Please review for faster updates! Anything! Even flames cause it'll point out what I'm doing wrong X3 I'd just really appreciate if you take the time to write a little something :D**


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